


Like The Blind Leading The Bribe

by Hystaracal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 22:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16293209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hystaracal/pseuds/Hystaracal
Summary: Blaise hosts a masked costume ball, hoping the sense of anonymity will allow him to uncover who has been blackmailing him, Draco, and Theo.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneFanfictionForumHalloween2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneFanfictionForumHalloween2018) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Blaise hosts a masked costume ball, hoping the sense of anonymity will allow him to uncover who has been blackmailing him, Draco, and Theo

 

**  
October 16, 2:30 AM: The Shadow, in Knockturn Alley, with a secret.**

 

The cobbled street was like a silver ribbon of moonlight. The rows of disreputable shops that flanked it were all locked and chained. The street lamps were doused, the rats in the sewers were silent, and stray crups lay fast asleep under soggy old newspapers.  
Among this dark stillness, The Shadow was the lone animated figure. It stalked down the path, melting into the murk with a kind of fluid mutability – you could be sure that it was most aptly named. Its footfalls made no sound, and when a slight breeze rushed by, its inky black cloak did not flutter.

It glided past Borkin and Burkes, Cobb and Webb’s, The Coffin House, Tallow and Hemp Toxic Tapers; its ominous reflection flashed momentarily on the tinted glass of their display windows. Finally, it arrived before a tall brick building at the end of the twisting alleyway. Here, a single window was lit.  
The Shadow dodged the trail of illumination that streamed out of the window and it approached the building’s scuffed black door. The door opened of its own accord, accompanied by a low creak. The Shadow slithered down a dusty hallway where broken, unwanted furniture was covered with tatty sheets, crept up an old wooden staircase, until, at last, it was outside the room from whence the light was emitting. The door was open just a crack, and through it The Shadow could see a flickering candle, a desk, and a moth-eaten armchair upon which sat a young man. He was staring off into the distance, and his discomfiture was evident in the rigidity of his posture.

Without turning he said, “I know you’re out there.”

The Shadow stayed resolutely behind the door. “Douse the light,” it rasped in a high, steely voice that made the young man shiver.

“No.”

“You are in no position to deny me,” The Shadow insisted, “Douse the light.”

The young man closed his eyes, and he drew in a deep, long breath. Then he stood up, slowly made his way over to the rusted candelabra in the corner of the room, and blew it out. Darkness fell suddenly, swathing the space in hues of deep blue and black. For a moment, both our characters were blind.

The Shadow slipped inside and faced off with the young man in silence as their eyes adjusted. Bit by bit, fractions of the world around them emerged, and The Shadow drew the hood of its cloak closer around itself.

“Do you have the money?”

“Do you have the pictures?”

“I told you, you fool, you have no business trying to take the lead here,” The Shadow spat, “Do you have the money?”

“Of course I do!” the young man snapped agitatedly.

“Put it on the table.”

“I – but – but the pictures–”

“On the table. Now.”

The young man struggled with himself, and it amused The Shadow. It laughed, (an eerie, metallic sound,) which seemed to spur the young man into motion. He violently threw a small sack onto the table between them, and it jangled like one filled with coins would.

“Three thousand galleons?”

“Yes. You can count them if you like,” The young man snarled.

With another short laugh, The Shadow refused. “You know what will happen if you try to short-change me, Mr. Zabini.”

The young man – henceforth Mr. Zabini – turned sickly. His aggression melted into timidity, and he swallowed and begged, “The pictures. Please.”

The Shadow tossed an envelope onto the table. It slid across the length of it, stopping right at the edge from where Mr. Zabini snatched it up greedily.

“Is this all of them?” he asked.

“Do you think me a fool?”

And with that, the last of Mr. Zabini’s fortitude died. He wilted like a rag. “You mean... you... you have more?”

“Plenty more,” The Shadow crooned sinisterly, “We will be seeing a lot more of each other, Mr. Zabini.”

“No!” Mr. Zabini roared, “No! Our deal was for all the pictures–”

“I lied.”

“You _lied_?!”

“I am blackmailing you, Mr. Zabini. Did you expect me to be ethical about it?”

“I – but – I – you – AH!”

Mr. Zabini let out a feral howl and launched himself at The Shadow. But alas, he’d taken no more than three steps before he was thrown back brutally, and he crashed against a wall.

“Watch yourself,” The Shadow murmured. Then it summoned its sack of money and disapparated, leaving Mr. Zabini panting wretchedly, a crumpled heap on the floor.

 

* * *

 

**October 19, 11 AM: Theodore Nott, in Blaise Zabini’s lounge, with a hangover.**

If there was one consistency in Theo’s life, it was this phrase, uttered every Sunday morning: ‘ _Shouldn’t have had that last one. Ugh.’_

He was draped like a tragic Greek heroine on Blaise’s sofa, with one hand hanging down to the floor. His eyes were closed – keeping them open gave him vertigo – and his other hand was massaging his temples through his utterly tousled hair.

“Shouldn’t have had that last one,” he groaned, “ _Ugh._ ”

In the midst of his moaning and grousing, the floo across the room flared to life, and another young man stepped into the room. Unlike Theo, this chap was perfectly put together. His dark grey robes, and the crisp attire underneath, were all perfectly pressed, and his shiny, shockingly light blond hair was loosely pushed to the side. With careless elegance, he loped over to where his friend was lying and said in a haughty, deliberately aggravating way, “Well, you look like shit.”

“Gosh, thanks, Draco,” Theo replied drily, “Always a pleasure.”

Draco made a noise of disgust and settled down on an armchair opposite Theo.

“Blaise summoned you as well then?” he asked as he examined the plush room with a subtle sneer.

“Obviously. Do you think I’d be here, dying as I am, if Blaise’s letter hadn’t been designed to scare the fuck out of me?”

“Any idea what it’s about?”

“No. _Oh Merlin!_ ”

“What??”

“I’m actually dying!” Theo lamented, “Shouldn’t have had–”

“–that last one. Quite.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Theo said.

Bored of his friend’s theatrical suffering, Draco stood up and wandered, eyes roving and calculating the net worth of the room. He stopped at the traditional Korean mother of pearl cabinet in one corner and started to mindlessly fiddle with an ornamental vase made of Ashwinder eggshells.

  
“I wouldn’t play with that if I were you,” warned Blaise, who’d suddenly appeared behind Draco as though he’d apparated there, but without the usual explosive crack that accompanied it.

“Bloody hell, man!” Draco yapped, spinning around to glare at him.

“Ashwinder eggs are dangerous,” Blaise continued in his sleekly calm manner as he moved forward to pry the vase out of Draco’s hands, “And freezing charms are notoriously fickle.”

Draco’s expression would’ve made lesser men cry, but Blaise just smirked. “It’s good to see you again, Draco. It’s been far too long.”

Not long enough, Draco seemed to think, if his answering scowl was anything to go by. From the sofa, Theo barked out a disbelieving laugh. Blaise turned to him with a wide grin.

“And you as well, Theodore. Looking as charmingly scruffy as ever.”

“Bugger off, Zabini.”

Chuckling darkly, Blaise spread his arms in a gesture that ought to have been warm and welcoming, but really just... wasn’t. “What can I offer you gentlemen? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Draco gritted out.

“Firewhiskey?”

“Fuck, _no_ ,” Theo wailed.

“Enough bullshit small talk, Blaise,” Draco snapped, “Just spit out the real reason you’ve called us here and get it done with.”

Blaise clicked his tongue. “Always so brash and aggressive. Unbecoming for a Slytherin, don’t you think, Theo?”

“Nah, I’m with him.” Theo dragged himself into a slightly more upright position with a great deal of agony. “What’s going on? _...Better show up or we’ll be sorry_ , eh? You can’t expect us to be in a very friendly mood after receiving a letter like that.”

“Fair enough,” Blaise replied shortly, “Alright then, boys. Here’s the thing: I know.”

“ _You know_?” Theo mimicked dramatically, “Ohhh, _you know_? I don’t remember you being this bloody ominous in school. What the fuck do you _know_?”

Blaise’s stunning dark eyes were narrowed when he said, “I know about The Shadow.”

The impact of his declaration was instantaneous. Theo’s curved spine was, at once, ramrod straight, and Draco’s inherent pallor turned ghostly.

“ _What_?” they both choked simultaneously.

“I know,” Blaise shrugged, “I know it’s been blackmailing you for the better part of a year. And I know exactly what it’s got on you.”

“How–” Draco wheezed, “ _How_ –”

“I make it my business to know things.”

“Do you know who it is then?”

“Ah, that I don’t know. It seems to be an exemplary hider, not even my best men have been able to fish it out.”

“Hold on a damned second,” Theo cried. He looked directly at Draco with wide eyes, “You as well? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Draco’s face crumpled with guilt for no more than a fleeting instant before he shot back at Theo. “Well, you didn’t say anything either!”

“The Shadow told me if I blabbed it would–”

“Send its evidence straight to Skeeter?”

“Yeah!”

“So there you are.”

“What’s it got on you?”

Draco fell silent, turning his eyes to the shiny marble floor. Blaise replied for him; “Draco’s been supplying money to various agents of investment fraud to keep their scams running. For some pretty paltry returns, I believe.”

Theo spluttered incoherently for a long time, choking on a range of exclamations of disbelief. Draco picked up the gist of what he was getting at and reared with indignation. “It’s not my fault! My father was elbow-deep in this shit long before I got the company! When I tried to get out of it, they threatened to tell. I’d just... _just..._ managed to avoid Azkaban. I couldn’t – I–”

“Oh, poor little Draco,” Blaise cooed, “It’s never your fault. You didn’t _mean_ to sent Katie Bell into a coma, or nearly kill Weasley. You didn’t _want_ to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts.”

“You’re a bastard,” Draco snarled.

“That’s hardly news, is it? Imagine what would happen if the word got out that the Department of Mysteries biggest supplier is actually a crook?”

Draco’s great fury had rendered him incapable of speech, so Blaise moved on. “Now, Theo. Oh, Theo. Shagging your way through London and beyond. How many married top ranking ministers have you had so far? If I hear correctly, your last conquest was Minister Shacklebolt’s wife? Or was it the newly instated Chief Warlock?”

“Those are all private, personal matters!” Theo yelled.

“Private, personal matters are what make the best scandals, old chap,” Blaise informed him cheerfully, “You would be in _so_ much trouble.”

“Fuck you.”

“I have no doubt you’d love to.”

“Enough!” Draco cut in thunderously, “It’s all well to gloat like the arsehole you are, but The Shadow has dirt on you as well, doesn’t it?”

“Ah yes,” Blaise sighed as he languidly ambled over to his liquor cabinet, “Are you quite sure I can’t offer you a drink? Okay, suit yourselves.”

  
Draco and Theo seethed as they watched him pour out a hefty helping of scotch into a crystal tumbler. Then he took a long sip. And then he took another one.

“Spit it out, would you?” Theo demanded.

“Absolutely not! This is very fine, expensive stuff.”

“BLAISE!”

“Oh, calm down,” he chided, “So here it is. The Shadow has procured evidence of an underground business I run.”

“What is it?” Draco asked eagerly.

“Did you read about the large weyr of Chinese Fireballs discovered off the coast of Portugal? Or those young Romanian Longhorns found inexplicably in the basement of that Russian crime lord...?”

“Hang it all!” Draco gasped, “ _You’re_ the one behind the international dragon-smuggling ring?”

“I am.” Blaise looked quite smug about it.

“That’s fucking terrible!” Draco raged, “Legal repercussions aside, the trauma you’re putting those poor creatures through is–”

Blaise interrupted him with a snigger. “Would you look at that? Draco cares about dragons. You’ve been spending far too much time hanging around a certain bushy haired advocate for all the world’s underdogs.”

Draco’s mouth snapped shut and he a levelled a searing glare at Blaise, who only laughed louder. “Well, as I’ve established that we’re all on the same side–”

“We are _not–_ ”

“I suggest we do something about it.”

“Are you mad?” Theo – all infirmity forgotten – jumped to his feet. “Do you want to ruin our lives?”

“No, actually. I intend to rid us of this Shadow menace for once and for all. I have a plan, and I need you both to help me implement it.”

“No,” Theo and Draco stated at once.

“ _Yes_ ,” Blaise countered, “I have narrowed down my list of suspects to six people. I will invite them here under false pretences, and once we have them all in the same room, we can easily pick the culprit out.”

“What makes you think they’ll show up?” Draco asked incredulously.

Blaise was undeterred. “They’ll show up. Nobody turns down an invite to an exclusive Blaise Zabini party.”

“You’re barmy!” Theo howled.

“I’m brilliant. It’ll be a masquerade... to lull the perpetrator into a sense of false confidence.”

“This – You’re – No – What–” Theo was beside himself. “Who are your suspects?”

“I’m not going to tell.”

“Why the fuck not?!”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’m out.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, “Thanks, but no thanks. Now if that’s all–”

 “That is not all.” Blaise set his drink down and strode back towards them. “I’m not giving you a choice, you idiots. You help me with this, or I’ll go public with your... er, misdeeds.”

A deluge of abuse exploded out of the other two, which Blaise calmly and unflinchingly listened to.

“You can rage all you want,” he said, “But it changes nothing.”

“Let me get this straight,” Draco spat, “You’re blackmailing us into going along with an absolutely harebrained scheme to catch someone who’s _also_ blackmailing us.”

“Precisely.”

“You _are_ barmy!” Theo cried, “And – and you’re evil!”

Blaise buffed his nails against his robes. “Are you quite finished?”

“NO!” They both shouted.

“Well, too bad. Off with you tossers, go on. I have a party to plan.”

 

* * *

 

**October 21, 2:00 PM: Draco Malfoy, in his office, with a thick sheaf of parchments.**

Draco stared down with rapidly increasing horror and panic at the numbers in front of him. An exorbitant amount to six scoundrels (each!) as well as a tidy sum to that fucking _despicable_ Shadow, on top of the sky-rocketing rates of all exotic plant-based potion ingredients thanks to recent trade agreements...  
He was being bled dry.

Shoving the bundle away, he buried his face in his hands and became the living, breathing embodiment of despair.

There was a knock at his door and he groaned heavily into his hands. Then he straightened, shook himself, and announced, “Come in.”

In walked Theo, as lanky and bedraggled as ever. “Draco,” he greeted with a nod, and sunk into a chair.  
The two men regarded each other with very similar looks consisting of wariness and exhaustion in equal parts.

“How have you been?” Theo asked, by and by.

“As wretched as you look,” replied Draco sullenly, “I’ve been actively planning to run away to Zanzibar.”

Theo laughed – short and morose – and sighed. “We should tell Blaise to bugger off.”

“What, and have him fuck up everything?” Draco looked horrified.

“We’ll just tell him that if he leaks our secrets we’ll leak his.”

“ _No_! I can’t take any risks, alright? I can’t end up in prison!”

Theo frowned. “You’re still rich enough to pay your way out of Azkaban.”

“That isn’t good enough. It’s my... my reputation, Theo. And I can’t lose my contract with the Ministry. It’s the only way I... I... I just can’t.”

If Draco had looked troubled before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. Theo peered at him with narrowed eyes and huffed, “Seriously, Draco? So you actually want to do as Blaise says?”

“Well–” Draco hedged, running a hand through his hair, “If his idiotic plan works–”

“It won’t.”

“ _If it works_... one of our problems will be taken care of.”

“And what makes you think that Blaise won’t rush in to fill the vacuum?” Theo snapped.

“He probably will.”

“For Salazar’s sake! How does that fix anything?”

“Better the devil you know?” he answered weakly.

  
They sat in silence again, staring at different spots on the wall.  

  
“So... Zanzibar?”

“Good food, decent beaches. Yeah. Why not?”

 

* * *

 

**October 24, 6:00 PM: The Shadow, in an unplottable den, with an invitation letter.**

  
_Mr. Blaise Zabini_  
_requests the pleasure of your company at a Masquerade Ball,_  
_to be held at his residence in Cringle Moor_  
_on Friday, October 31, 2003_  
_at 7 o’clock._

_Kindly wear the mask provided with this invitation._

 

The Shadow’s peculiar, unsettling laugh echoed around the chamber. Within its gloved hand, the expensive ivory parchment turned into ash. It fingered the mask it’d been sent, tracing the fine stitching around the eyeholes.

“A trap!” it cackled with delight, “Mr. Zabini wants to play, does he?”

Like a hunter rearing to go, The Shadow stood on the tips of its toes, practically vibrating with excitement, before three enchanted mirrors.  
The first showed Theo in a disreputable, exclusive sort of bar. One hand was nursing a drink, and the other was covertly slipping inside the trousers of the gentleman standing in front of him.

“Jeremy Pergolio? Mr. Nott, you cad! He has four children!”

In the second, Draco was leaning over a desk, deep in conversation with a witch. With flushed pink cheeks and tumultuous brown hair, she was gesturing animatedly as she spoke. The moment she turned to pull something out of a small beaded bag by her feet, Draco’s face took on an expression of such gut-wrenching wonder and longing that The Shadow looked away in disgust.

The third mirror... now, that was interesting. The third mirror showed the inside of a massive cavern. Four or five torches on the walls revealed that it was full of cages, within which dozens of dragon cubs were brutally crammed. Three terrifyingly hefty men marched up and down between the cages, each bearing a metal prong. The Shadow, however, was most interested in the far right corner, where Blaise appeared to be shaking hands with a Japanese man. It quickly picked up its camera and captured the moment.

 

* * *

 


	2. Two

 

**  
October 31, 6:45 PM: Blaise Zabini, in the dining room, with a pocket watch.**

 

He was dressed in elegant black robes that were tailored to perfection. His mask, simple and obscuring the top half of his face, was black as well. He looked terribly imposing as he stood at the head of a long dining table, staring compulsively at the little golden timepiece in his hand. The room – already fairly grand – had been spruced up to fit the festivities of the day. The lighting was dim, with four large candelabra standing in each corner. Gauzy black curtains hung in front of the large windows, and carved pumpkins were placed decorously here and there.  
Blaise checked his watch again: 6:50.

He had some kind of mini-seizure when the door to the room slowly creaked open.

“Master?” said a high, awfully nervous voice.

Blaise took a breath to regain his composure, and replied, “What is it, Yvette?”

A tiny little house-elf wrapped up in linen, poked her misshapen head around the door and squeaked, “I is bringing drinks, master.”

“Very well. Set them on the trolley.”

  
Yvette the house-elf tottered in bearing a tray that looked far too large and far too heavy for her frame, and anyone with a basic sense of decency would be highly troubled by the sight. Blaise tapped his index finger against the table to indicate his displeasure at Yvette’s slow pace.

“Anything else, master?”

“No. Just wait in the hall to greet our guests and bring them straight here.”

“Yes, master.”

Yvette bowed lowly and backed out of the room. Alone again, Blaise looked at his watch... 6:53. He marched over to a window and pulled the curtain aside just a sliver to look outside. It was a dark and stormy night and the world was full of shadows. He breathed out heavily, fogging up the glass. Not a second later, the door opened once more, and he spun around wildly.

“Mr. Draco Malfoy, master,” Yvette announced.

  
Draco strode in with his head held high, in deep navy robes and a thin band around his eyes. He’d done nothing to disguise the telltale hue of his hair.

“Thank you, Yvette,” he said to the house-elf, who got so alarmed and flustered by the courtesy that she fled the room posthaste.

“Thanking the help, Draco?” Blaise sneered, “What have you become?”

“A half decent human being,” Draco replied cuttingly, “I would’ve suggested you give it a go, if I didn’t know that you were too far gone for it.”

In the midst of Blaise’s consequent laughter, Theo was shown in.

“Where’s your mask?” Blaise asked at once.

“No idea.”

“Put on your bloody mask.”

“No.”

“Theo, this is a masquerade–”

“Fuck _off_ , Blaise.”

Blaise gave him a withering look. “Why are you so cranky, my friend?”

“I am not your friend,” his not-friend replied, “And I don’t like this one bit. I don’t like it at all.”

“Then go,” Blaise suggested with a careless shrug, “Just remember to lie low for the next... oh, twenty odd years, while public outrage at all your shocking transgressions dies down.”

“ _Cunt_ ,” Theo growled. He practically ran to the serving tray at the side of the room to pour himself a large drink, which he threw back in one gulp.  

And Blaise peaked down at his watch: 7:00. Sharp.

 

“Ms. Red and Mr. Plum.”

At Yvette’s proclamation, the three men in the room stiffened and anxiously turned to face the door. A man and a woman walked in cautiously, each taking time to look carefully around the room. She was in dark red robes that wrapped charmingly around her lithe frame. Her hair was sleek and black and grazed her clavicle. He was stocky and fair-haired, in deep purple robes. Both were wearing full-face masks in colours matching their attire. 

“Good evening, and welcome!” Blaise stated pompously.  

“Thank you for having us,” Ms. Red replied.

“Please sit down,” Blaise said, and Draco rushed forward to pull out a chair for Ms. Red.

They’d barely settled when Yvette returned.

“Ms. White.”

In snowy lace and a matching mask, Ms. White had bright pink hair tied in a bun on top of her head. As she sat, she noted, “You have not left food outside, Mr. Zabini.”

“No?” Blaise was puzzled.

“How to you expect to welcome the _Aos Si_ into your home if you don’t leave out a meal for them?”

“How careless of me,” Blaise stuttered, “I’ll have Yvette look into it immi–”

  
“Mr. Green, Mr. Yellow, and Ms. Peacock.”

And the last of their guests had arrived.

Mr. Green, dressed in green, had bright red hair. Mr. Yellow, dressed in dull yellow, had black hair. Ms. Peacock’s mask had an elaborate plume of peacock feathers that covered her hair entirely.  
“Welcome!” Blaise boomed, “Welcome all! I am so perfectly delighted that you could make it. As you can see, this is a fairly intimate affair, and in anticipation of the rather exciting, ah, _games_ we have planned for later in the night, I have kept your identities a secret. Only I know who you are. Even my co-hosts – I’m sure you’re all acquainted with Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott – are in the dark. I promise you an evening of thrills and intrigue, my friends. It will be a night to remember.  
“Now without further ado... Yvette! Serve the drinks!”

Poor Yvette, burdened once more with that massive tray, did a round of the table. To make matters worse, her little legs trembled as five of the six guests, and Draco, thanked her.

 

Thunder raged outside, lightening flashed, and eight people sat at the table sipping manically at their respective drinks. Only Blaise appeared to be entirely collected. All his jitteriness from before had been replaced by an anticipative glow that was almost menacing.  
“So... Mr. Yellow. Did you–”

“Auror.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am an Auror and I’d prefer that you address me as such.”

“I... see. _Auror_ Yellow, then. Did you–”

“Mustard.”

Everybody stared at Theo at his abrupt interruption. “Auror _Mustard,_ ” he went on, “As in–”

“No, I think Yellow is just fine–”

“ _Mustard_ , as in he _must_ be a _turd_.”

“WHAT!” the man in question baulked, “No way! Who do you think you are, Nott?”

“I’d prefer that you address me as Theodore Nott, esquire.”

“I’m not going to call you that!”

“Too bad, Mustard.”

As Auror Mustard sputtered with indignation, Draco, who’d very nimbly ensured that he was seated next to his chosen companion, turned to her and enquired, “Are you enjoying the wine, Ms. Scarlett? It’s from my personal collection.”

“It’s absolutely delicious,” she said, and her lovely eyes smiled, “And I do believe my name is Ms. _Red._ ”

“No,” Draco disagreed, and his gaze travelled from the creamy flesh of her neck down her torso, “I’m quite certain you ought to be called _Scarlett_.”

She had a very bodily reaction to the way the name rolled off his tongue.

Mr. Plum cleared his throat. “If he’s _Auror_ Mustard–”

“YELLOW!”

“I will insist on being called Professor Plum.”

“Honestly, Blaise,” Theo drawled, “Did you look for the most obnoxious people in all of England to have over?”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Auror Mustard retaliated.

“Gentlemen, please!” Blaise interjected in a soothing tone, “This is supposed to be a pleasant evening. Let’s not squabble. Mr. Green – may I call you _Mr._ Green? – Your glass is empty. That is not to be borne. Yvette! Refills!”

 

As Yvette was topping up glasses, Blaise left his seat to go stand by a window once again. Keeping his back to his guests, he asked, “Did you all deposit your wands at the entrance?”  
A murmur of affirmation went around, but Blaise slowly turned and said, “That’s a lie.”

The colourful guests looked among each other, and the fact that their masks hid their reactions and expressions completely was quite unnerving. Like a agile predator, Blaise stalked back to the table until he’d lain both his hands on Auror Mustard’s shoulders.

“I should’ve expected that a proud Auror would never part with his wand.”

“I... er...”

“Let’s see it, Auror Mustard.” The man flinched, and Blaise gently squeezed his shoulders. “Your wand, sir.”

Hesitatingly, he took his wand out from within the folds of his robes and placed it on the table in front of him.

“Very well,” Blaise said after eyeing it closely, “You may keep it.”

“I demand to have my wand back too!” Ms. Peacock cried shrilly, “Get me my wand back at once!” She got more het up when Blaise ignored her and walked towards a cabinet. “Bla – _Mr. Zabini_! You _will_ give me back my wand!”

“Quite a spitfire, aren’t you, my dear Ms. Peacock?” Blaise returned to the table and this time he had a small sack in his hand. “Such rage... such _fury_. A Fury, without a doubt, needs her whip.”

With that, Blaise pulled an actual whip out of the sack he was holding and presented it to her. She grasped it almost involuntarily. “What is this – Why are you–”

“It is your accessory for the night, ma’am,” Blaise informed her, “I procured it from a secret sect of sorcerers in Athens. It’s quite lethal, so do be careful.”

Leaving Ms. Peacock gaping at her gift, he moved onto Professor Plum and grinned. “Ah, esteemed Professor. Such broad shoulders you have, such strong arms. Perfect for wielding a.... beater’s bat!”  
And so, Professor Plum was handed a bat.

“The lovely Ms. Scarlett, with such beautifully nimble fingers. I’m sure you’ll know how to handle this cursed dagger.”

“No, I don’t think–”

Blaise moved on. “Ms. White. This Pukwudie arrow ought to tickle your fancy...”

“Fascinating,” Ms. White breathed.

“Mr. Green. May I present to you an enchanted blunderbuss – tell it your intended target, and it will not miss.”

“Mr. Zabini,” Ms. Scarlett piped up, (she had pushed the dagger he’d given her far away from herself,) “Is there a point to this?”

“But of course! Now that you each have a lethal weapon, I will get to my point. You have touched them and your fingerprints have been permanently embedded onto them. There will be a murder here tonight, and you will all be suspects.”

“Oh, how thrilling!” Ms. White clapped her hands.

Auror Mustard grumbled, “Thought we’d at least get something to eat before the games began.”

“The game began seven months ago, Auror Mustard,” Blaise said darkly, “It was started by one of you. But tonight... tonight I intent to finish it.”

Blaise returned to his spot at the head of the table, and he stood behind his chair, resting his elbows on its high back.  
“Each and every one of you here has reason to wish me harm... petty school grudges, professional rivalry, jealousy, scorned affection... Any one of you could be the one I’m looking for; the one who’s going to die a very painful death tonight. But before I get into the delightful task of unmasking and torturing you till you confess, I’m giving the culprit one chance to come clean. For the sake of your innocent companions, I suggest you do it.”

“What kind of twisted shit is this, Zabini?” Mr Green asked.

“And you haven’t even explained the rules of the game!” Ms. Scarlett sounded most aggrieved.

“This is not a fucking game!” Blaise roared, and he threw his chair against a wall. His transformation into Mr. Hyde was complete.

Ms. Peacock screamed.

“Calm down, Blaise!” Draco commanded, getting to his feet in alarm.

“I will not calm down!” Blaise’s wand was out and he pointed it at his guests one by one. “Who is it? Which one of you miserable fuckers is The Shadow? I’m giving you ten seconds to speak up, or you’ll _all_ be sorry! Ten. Nine. Eight. Seve–”

“I could arrest you for this!” Auror Mustard shouted, “In fact, I will–”

“ _Shut. Up_. Five. Four – SIT DOWN, PLUM.” The poor man, who’d tried to make a run for it, fell hard onto the floor after being hit with a stunner. “There’s no use trying to run. The house is locked, every exit is sealed. I have set up anti-apparation wards. The Floo has been blocked. You can’t escape.”

With a whimper, Professor Plum pulled himself back onto his seat.

“What are you going on about?” Ms. Peacock shrieked in panic, “What shadow, what torture? I demand that you let me go at once! My husband won’t let you get away with this! He’ll have your head! He’ll–”

“Your husband is an incompetent fool who does nothing but hop from one bed to the other. Incidentally, he’s spent quite some time in our friend Theo’s bed–”

“Blaise!” Theo bellowed.

“Theo? My husband? _What?_ ”

 

“ENOUGH!”

Blaise’s voice was like the howl of a hungry werewolf. “Enough,” he repeated, “Well then. Since you’ve decided _not_ to own up, I will make you. Let’s start with Ms. Scarlett, shall we? I will enjoy this–”

Draco immediately placed himself protectively in front of her.

“You’ve lost your mind, Zabini!”

“You have!” Ms. Peacock trilled, “You’ve _lost your mind!_ ”

“I’ll put you in Azkaban for the rest of your pathetic life!” Auror Mustard threatened.

Mr. Green appeared to be slowly edging his chair backwards.

“It wasn’t me!” Professor Plum cried, “I’ve nothing to do with this!”  
(Ms. White patted his back consolingly.)

The chaos and hysteria was building and building when all of a sudden, in one fell swoop, all the candles died, and the room was thrown into pitch darkness.

First, there was shocked silence.  
Then the sound of a whip.  
A crash.  
A scream.  
A cry.  
A spell sizzling as it cut through the air.  
A thump.  
A gunshot.   
Another scream.  
Glass breaking.  
A thud.  
Fumbling.

Then there was light. Theo stood by a candelabrum, with a cigarette lighter in his trembling hand. For a while, they all just breathed. The cupboard and all its objects made of glass and china were a mountain of debris.

“Is everyone all ri–”

Ms. Peacock released a goosepimple-inducing, hair-curling, heart-stopping, brain-freezing scream.

“ _What?_ ” Draco urged, running over to where she was standing, “What – _oh Merlin!_ ”

“What is it?” Theo demanded.

“It’s Blaise! He’s... I think he’s... he’s....”

Ms. Scarlett pushed her way through the cluster that had formed around Blaise’s prone figure on the floor, crouched beside him, and pressed her fingers against his wrist.

“He’s dead,” she pronounced as she fell back on her haunches, “Oh god, he’s dead.”

“You sure?” Auror Mustard asked.

“Of course I’m bloody well sure!”

“It could be a trick,” Mr. Green mused, “All a part of his plan.”

“No,” Ms. Scarlett insisted, “He’s dead. He can’t fake this. Even the Drought of Living Death doesn’t stop your pulse completely.”

“Oh no!” Ms. White wheezed, clutching her chest tightly.

Ms. Peacock, who’d collapsed into a chair and was hyperventilating, suddenly jumped up. “There was a gunshot! We all heard it! YOU!” she pointed at Mr. Green, “You had the blunderbuss! It was you! You killed him! Mr. Green, with the revolver!”

“No!” Mr. Green denied at once, “The shot was an accident... I swear! Someone was trying to snatch the gun out of my hand–”

“Ha! A likely story!”

“He wasn’t shot,” said Draco, who’d crouched down next to Ms. Scarlett, “There’s no wound.”

“In fact,” Ms. Scarlett added, “he hasn’t got any physical injuries at all. He’s clearly been hit with the killing curse.”

“Of course!” Theo thundered, “It was Mustard! Auror Mustard, with the wand!”

“I didn’t!” Auror Mustard’s voice warbled, “I didn’t – I–”

“Well, there’s one way to tell, isn’t there?” Draco posed.

“ _Priori incantatem_!” Ms. Scarlet gasped.

A minute later, it was revealed that the last spell cast by Auror Mustard’s wand was a shaving charm.

“Told you,” he huffed.

“Zabini is still dead, you arseholes!” Ms. Peacock reminded them, “Someone _avada’d_ him, and since there is no way in or out of this blasted mansion, that someone is still here!”

“Right.” Mr. Green’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Who else has a wand?”

Unsurprisingly, nobody came forward.

“Try summoning it,” he told Auror Mustard.

 _Accio wand_ bore no fruit. Nor any wands.

“So it wasn’t any of us?” Ms. White wondered, “Is there anyone else here?”

“Besides Yvette, no,” Draco answered. Then he sighed, “But... I can’t be sure.”

“Shit!” Professor Plum warbled, flapping his arms like a frantic bird, “We’re trapped in a house with a murderer! We’re done for! It’s all over!”

“Nothing’s over,” Mr. Green snapped. He considered Draco and Theo, asking, “Do you know if there’s another, secret exit somewhere in here?”

They both shook their heads.

“Okay,” Mr. Green continued, “There are eight of us, and thanks to Zabini’s thoughtfulness, we’re all armed. I say we split up and explore the place. Surely one of us will find a way out.”

“And what if we find the murderer first?” Ms. Peacock railed.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Use that whip of yours.”

“Can’t we get our wands back from the elf?”

Theo tapped his chin. “Worth a try. Yvette!” he called out loudly, “Yvette! _Yvette!_ ”

“Yeah, shut up, that’s not working.”

While Theo scowled at Auror Mustard, Draco drew a rough plan of Blaise’s house as best he could remember.

 

* * *

 

 


	3. Three

 

**  
October 31, 9:00 PM: Ms. Peacock, in the dining room, with the fury’s whip.**

 

Ms. Peacock held her ground and refused the leave the room. She hunched into herself in the corner of the room furthest from Blaise’s dead body, with a tight grip around her whip. Her eyes darted frantically from side to side.

 

* * *

  


**October 31, 9:15 PM: Mr. Green, in the ballroom, with a blunderbuss.**

 

His footsteps fell against the polished wooden floor firmly but quite silently, like he was accustomed to sneaking around.

The ballroom was very large and opulent: A high ceiling, crystal chandeliers, golden pillars, etcetera. One entire side of the room was made of glass. Mr. Green placed both his palms on the panes and pushed. He rapped his knuckles against them, twice. He bent down, lifted the left leg of his trousers and pulled a wand out from his sock.

“ _Bombarda,_ ” he murmured. But the spell appeared to get absorbed by the glass. “Fuck.” Mr. Green closed his eyes in frustration. Then he waved his wand and cast a very different spell.

 

* * *

 

**October 31, 9:20 PM: Ms. Scarlett and Draco Malfoy, in the library, with a cursed dagger.**

 

“You really didn’t have to accompany me, Mr. Malfoy,” Ms. Scarlett muttered as she walked cautiously between tall bookshelves.

“Of course I did,” Draco replied at once, “I couldn’t stand the thought of being at the other end of this horrendous house, wondering how you were.”

“How considerate of you.”

“Isn’t it just?”

She made a small noise that _might_ have been a giggle, had their current situation not been so desperately bleak.

“Any reason you immediately suggested we head to the library?” she asked.

“Why, yes. We’ve had a very traumatic evening. I know how much being in a library calms you down, Granger.”

She tripped over nothing and would have landed flat on her face if Draco hadn’t deftly caught her by the waist.

“Careful there!” he exclaimed, “Are you all right?”

She spun around to face him. “You know who I am!” she gasped.

Draco smiled. “I knew the moment I saw you. The moment I saw your eyes.”

“Oh dear,” Hermione Granger croaked weakly, “I didn’t even consider changing them! They’re so nondescript and ordinary, after all. I–”

“Your eyes are anything but ordinary.”

Draco hadn’t relinquished his hold on her. She was looking up at him dazedly and he took advantage of her shock by pulling her closer.

“You knew it was me.”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“You knew...” she suddenly reared back a fraction and cried, “But you’ve been flirting with me all evening!”

 “Granger, I _always_ flirt with you.”

“No you don’t!”

He simply arched his brow at her in response. Enlightenment dawned upon her slowly.

“Oh my word,” she whispered, “You always flirt with me!”

“That’s right.”

“ _Why_?”

“Why does any bloke flirt with an intelligent, fascinating, beautiful woman?”

“You can’t – you don’t mean to say you’re interested in me?!”

Draco stared down at her with hooded eyes. “Do I take the fact that you didn’t even notice my interest as a sign of _your_ lack of–”

“NO!” she all but shouted.

“...No?”

“I am interested,” she mumbled, lowering her head, “I am... very... interested.”

Draco took her shrouded face in both his hands and ran his thumbs across the satiny material covering her cheekbones. “I'm going to take this mask off now, Granger.”

“O–Okay,” Hermione stuttered breathlessly.

“And then I am going to kiss you.”

Just as Draco had dragged his thumbs down to her jaw line and hooked them under the edge of her mask, a blood-curdling scream tore across the room and burst the pretty, ephemeral bubble they’d been floating in.

 

* * *

 

**October 31, 9:20 PM: Auror Mustard and Theodore Nott, in the cellar, with a wand.**

 

“You really didn’t have to accompany me, Nott,” Auror Mustard griped as he shone the illuminated tip of his wand across the expanse of the dusty cellar.

“I don’t trust you,” Nott grumbled in return, “Not only do I think that you’re the killer, I’m fairly certain that you’re the bastard who’s been bribing us, too.”

“Huh? I’m an Auror, you twat. I don’t break the law, I uphold it.”

“Oh for shit’s sake, you’re _such_ a–”

“AAAHHHHH!”

“WHAT?”

“AAAAHHH!”

“WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING?”

Auror Mustard thundered up the cellar stairs, and Theo was hot on his trail.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded angrily after they’d both caught their breath.

“S–s–s–sp– _spiders_!” Auror Mustard squawked.

“Spiders?! Are you serious?”

“Yeah!”

“What kind of shitty Auror is scared of spiders?!

“Spiders are bloody terrifying, alright?”

“No, it’s not al–”

You guessed it. They were interrupted by a deafening scream.

 

* * *

 

**October 31, 9:20 PM: Professor Plum, in the lounge, with a beater’s bat.**

 

Professor Plum was assessing the same ashwinder eggshell vase that had so intrigued Draco a few weeks ago. He stepped back and performed a 360 degree turn, taking in the whole room. He plodded over to the fireplace and helped himself to a handful of floo-powder from a bronze pot on the mantle.

“The Leaky Cauldron!” he pronounced, but got nothing but a puff of anaemic smoke for his troubles.

“Damn it!” he hissed and stomped his foot like a spoilt child. He spun in another circle, quicker and wilder than before, and this time he spotted a narrow door nestled between two bookshelves in an alcove.

On the other side of it was a study, equipped with a teak desk, file cabinets, and an enormous, golden globe. “Golly,” Professor Plum gushed, and lightly spun the orb. It made a loud creaking sound, vastly disproportionate to the lightness of his touch. And simultaneously, from the other end of the room, came the grating noise of stone gliding against stone.

Professor Plum jumped a foot in the air, blindly swinging his bat around in a frenzy. “Whozzere?? Show yourself! Come out right – _oh!_ ”

To his astonishment, there was an arched doorway where once there was solid wall. With dawdling, chary steps he approached the opening... and stopped. A long passageway stretched before him, with lamps floating an inch off the floor.

And that’s when it came, hurtling down the passage like a freight train: An awful scream of a terrified woman.

 

* * *

 

**October 31, 9:20 PM: Ms. White, in the kitchen, with a Pukwudie arrow.**

 

The kitchen provided warm respite from the all-pervading, atmospheric chill that afflicted the rest of the house. Ms. White stood before the roaring brick oven and toasted her fingers, almost blue with cold. The large pots and cauldrons hanging above reflected and warped her image like funhouse mirrors.

There was a sudden noise, a strange shuffling, and it seemed to be coming from behind the shelf full of heavy stone jars. Ms. White stiffened–  
_Screech!_  
The shelf swung forward like a door, revealing a dim corridor and –

“Ms. Peacock?”

“Ms. White?”

“How on earth did you get here?”

Ms. Peacock nervously wound and unwound her whip around her hand. “I’m not sure. I was pouring myself a drink when I – I accidentally knocked a candle stand over... and it hit this mounted steer head on the wall. The next thing I know, the fire place opened up and became a passageway. I thought – I hoped it would get me the hell out of here!”

“No luck, I’m afraid,” Ms. White (rather unnecessarily,) informed her.

Ms. Peacock grunted angrily. “Did you find the elf?”

“Why?”

“To get our wands back, you twit!”

“Oh.” Ms. White blinked. “She isn’t here.”

“Well, look for her! What’s her name again? Um... elf? Where are you? ELF?” 

They looked around the kitchen for some time; under the counter, behind shelves, inside potato sacks. Finally, Ms. Peacock wrenched open the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink. And then she let out a piercing scream of horror.  


* * *

 


	4. Four

 

**October 31, 9:35 PM: Chaos, everywhere, to the tune of _Flight of the Bumblebee_.  
**

 

Hermione and Draco shot out of the library, ran across the cellar door and into the conservatory, which they found empty. They sprinted back the way they’d come and collided headfirst into Theo and Auror Mustard.

“Theo!”

“Draco!”

“Who–”

“AAAAAH!”

It came from beyond the hall and they charged towards it...  
Seconds later they were in a pileup on the floor, with Mr. Green topping the lot.

“Argh! Gerrof, gerrof!”

“Who screamed?”

“I heard–”

“AAAAAHHHHH!”

“The kitchen!” they all exclaimed as one, (please stand by while they untangle their limbs,) and pell-mell, helter-skelter, roly-poly they tumbled into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

**October 31, 9:45 PM: Ms. Peacock, in the kitchen, with an aneurysm.**

 

When the panicked mob burst into the kitchen, they spent a good minute or so staring nonplussed at the screaming lady in blue. She was literally just standing, fists clenched at her sides, and screaming.

“Ms. Peacock!” Mr. Green cried, “What’s happened?”

“AAAHHH AHHH AAAAH!”

“What’s happened to her?” he frantically asked Ms. White, who simply shrugged.

“AAAAAH!”

“Ms. Peacock!”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

“ _Oi! Pop-peacock!_ SHUT YOUR INFERNAL GOB, YOU RAVING BAT!”

Suffice to say, everyone was most surprised that Auror Mustard’s painful lack of grace was actually good for something: Ms. Peacock shut her infernal gob.

“Now what’s got you all arsed up?” he asked with a hint of pride. She merely pointed under the sink.  
Guardedly, they all moved to look...

Hermione screamed, and immediately turned to press her face into Draco’s chest. Draco’s own eyes closed in horror, and the remainders all let out various sounds of distress. Yvette – poor, long-suffering Yvette – was stuffed on a shelf, nearly folded in half, and quite, _quite_ dead.

 

* * *

 

  
**October 31, 9:55 PM: Mr. Green, in the kitchen, with a purpose.**

 

“Stand back, all of you.”

His tone was commanding enough, that in their state of shock, nobody protested at being ordered around. Mr. Green crouched before the cupboard and assessed the situation, before pulling out his wand and –

“A WAND!” Ms. Peacock shrieked, “HE HAS A WAND!”

“Mr. Green’s the killer!” Auror Mustard affirmed, “Mr. Green, in the dining room, with–”

“Oh shut up, Ron,” Mr. Green snapped, “I just happen to be better at being stealthy than you.”

Auror Mustard – Ron – let out a furious roar, and tore his mask off. His black hair turned red – matching his face. “Hold on a fucking mo,” he seethed, “ _Harry?_ ”

“Yep.”

“I KNEW IT!” Theo yelped.

“You knew who we were?”

“No. I knew you _must_ be a turd!”

  
Unfortunately, Ron’s rude hand gesture didn’t get the attention it deserved, for that was when Ms. Peacock yanked the plumed absurdity off her head with a wail – “I’ve had enough!”

“Whoa! Pansy!”

“Yes, _Pansy._ And fuck you Draco, for being part of the reason I’m stuck here! My dress is ruined, I’ve had to sit for _half an hour_ in a room with a dead man, I’ll probably be dreaming about mutilated house-elves for _weeks_ , and..... my husband’s a poof? Theo you lousy bastard! How could you?”

“Eh,” Theo shrugged. “Who’re you two then?” He nodded at Hermione and Ms. White.

With loving care, Draco gently pried the mask off Hermione’s face. She was still crying inconsolably. Ms. White removed her mask with a flourish, and her pink hair tumbled down in dirty blond waves. 

“Luna!” Harry chirruped, as he too unmasked himself.

“Yes,” she smiled, “Hullo Harry. Hullo everyone. It’s been lovely. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to kill you all now.” 

As gasps and shouts of shock erupted, Luna drew a wand out from inside the bodice of her robes.

“ _Avada–_ ” she began, and – _THWACK!_ – Something large and heavy bashed her skull in.

 

* * *

 

**October 31, 10:15 PM: Professor Plum, in the kitchen, with a beater’s bat.**

 

“MY HERO!” Pansy yowled and threw herself at their unexpected saviour.

“Luna!” he panted, “I can’t believe it! Luna!”

“Holy–” said Ron.

“–Fuck,” said Theo.

Hermione (who seemed the least surprised of the lot,) eyed Professor Plum. “Neville?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” He removed his mask to reveal his Longbottom-face slack with disbelief.

“Where’d you come from?” Harry wondered.

“Over there,” he replied while airily waving a hand towards an opening in the wall. His other hand tried to tear Pansy off his robes; she was clutching on with desperation.

For a moment, there was utter silence. Everybody looked down at Luna spread-eagled on the floor, with blood pooling around her head. 

“Well, what now?” Theo drawled, “We still need to find a way out of here.”

“Oh, that’s been sorted,” Harry assured him, “I’d sent a patronus to the Ministry quite some time ago. They must be taking down the wards–”

  
Harry broke off when a loud crash was heard – the sound of a door being broken down. Then he grinned in a way that said, _‘Don’t you just love how things work out for me?'_ Seconds later, Aurors in black bodysuits were storming into the kitchen with their wands held high. They took in the scene with astonishment.

“Wha – what?” one sputtered, eyeing the body on the floor.

“Take it easy, Dawlish,” Ron snickered, “She was the bad guy. And you’re too late. As always.”

“Well, what do we have over here?” A man with dark hair and a wide toothy grin surveyed the room with interest, “Auror Potter, Weasley... care to explain?”

“I’ll leave that to Ron, Head Auror Curry, sir,” Harry replied drolly, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going home to sleep with my wife.”

Auror Curry looked a bit miffed, (and Ron twice as miffed,) as Harry stalked off.  Neville shoved Pansy into Dawlish’s arms and scarpered as well. Theo lit a cigarette and ambled over to where Draco and Hermione were embracing.

“Why’d you think she did it?” he asked, flicking ash towards Luna’s body.

“She was insane,” Hermione sniffed, “Always has been. Maybe the Gurdy-Horned Nargles told her to do it.”

“Does it really matter?” Draco countered, “It’s over. It’s all fucking over.”

“I suppose.”

Hermione looked up at Draco with big, teary brown eyes and whispered, “Take me home.”

He wrapped his cloak around her and complied.

 

Theo remained there, as Aurors hustled and bustled all around. Eventually Ron and Curry joined him, bumming a smoke each.

“So... two murders, eh?” Curry inquired conversationally.

“Three. Blaise is in the dining room.”

“Oh my,” he moaned, “This is quite serious, isn’t it? Will I have to contact someone’s mother? Nobody wails over a body like a mother. It’s very tedious.”

“Nah,” Theo huffed, and blew a ring of smoke into the air, “None of those sods are going to be missed.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
